


In The Darkest Places We Dwell

by ChloeWinchester, Johniarty



Series: Nothing Makes It Better [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Blood, Dark John Watson, Demon John, Demonic Possession, Gore, M/M, Non-Consensual, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Talk of Rape, Torture, Violence, extreme violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-29 09:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johniarty/pseuds/Johniarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After recovering from torture at the hands of Jim Moriarty, John returns to hunting- only to become possessed during a case. The demon sees the hatred, the anger, boiling below the surface, and decides to take John's body for an experimental little spin; in fact, he's going to get the doctor the revenge he so craves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Darkest Places We Dwell

**Author's Note:**

> This one's going to take some explaining.
> 
> I got an M!A for a possession, and the admins let Jim and I do a canonical thread. I wanted to try my hand at torture, and his resurrection gave John the perfect victim, and then... well, this thread happened. 
> 
> Funny story; John and Jim are going to end up together in canon. Their mutual suffering inadvertently acts as a catalyst to draw them closer, and as both are left alone and hurting (our Sherlock left the group)... they turn to the only person who has seen them at their most primal, their most base, their most broken. And that happens to be each other. BUT. That's not this story. This story is all hurt and some minor emotional comfort at the end. I just want to point that out. They do get a happy ending.
> 
> As always, the beautiful, incredibly skilled ChloeWinchester wrote for Jim, and I wrote for John.
> 
> AND TRIGGER WARNINGS. EVERY TRIGGER WARNING.

 

The images held within the vessel’s mind were intriguing. Such pain, such  _suffering._ It was magnificent. Someone had hurt it, deeply, physically and emotionally. The soul inside the meatsuit wanted revenge, though it wasn’t entirely aware of that fact. Someone had tampered with it, had buried the urges, but they were there. Oh god, were they there.

And what it wanted to inflict? Oh, even better. The object of its hate could heal himself. So much fun, so much delight to be had, if he could just find him…

It wasn’t that hard, to be honest. The man was still holed up in his warehouse- the vessel’s blood hadn’t even been washed away. It stained the floor and wall, flaking with the passage of time. How long had it been? A month and a half, still lingering?  _How cute,_ he thought.  _Sentiment._

"Jiiiiiim. I know you’re here. I’ve got a little present for you." He toyed with a bloody hook on the ground, grinning a playful half-grin.

\------

Jim stared at the bloodstain on the wall, the one that hadn’t come out no matter how many times he’d sprayed it down. It barely diluted.

Time had passed since he’d tortured Dr. Watson, but it didn’t wash the sin of what he’d done away. The moment, the memory, the  _stain_  was still there, festering in the back of his mind and he didn’t know why. He wanted it to stop, wanted so desperately for it to go away, but he didn’t know how.

He started at the voice, spinning around and staring at the familiar figure. “Dr. Watson?” He said. His eyes grew only slightly when his eyes went black. “Well, you  _look_ like Dr. Watson…What are you?”

\------

The demon licked its lips. “I’m something else, Mr. Moriarty- you might call me a  _fan.”_ He turned the metal instrument in his hand, not looking up at the Irishman. “You did quite a number on this one, I’m surprised he can even function. Outside meddling, saving what would otherwise be a terrible wreck of a man. It’s a shame, really- you broke him beautifully.”

He ran his tongue along the cold steel, relishing the tang of it in his mouth. “I think we should talk. Sit a spell and indulge me.”

\------

He stifled a shudder and he wasn’t sure why. If anything he should be happy about this. He would’ve called this an improvement a few years ago. He’d be taking his words as a compliment, not something he was ashamed of and he wouldn’t be cringing that…that  _John_  was nowhere near this creature’s tone or his body language.

John wasn’t home.

He sneered when he licked the hook, shaking his head. “No, you know, I think I’m going to go,” he said, moving to step around him.

\------

Adopting a stern gaze, the demon clicked its tongue. “Oh no, Mr. Moriarty. You don’t get to leave until I’m done with you.” It waved its hand, sending Jim slamming into the brick. “And we’ve not even begun.”

He stalked over to him, falling into John’s standard Parade Rest, black eyes locked on his face. “You’re a skilled craftsman, Jim. You know how to tear a person apart at the seams. It’s brilliant, really… The terror you cause almost resonates from within him. It drew me in, and when I surveyed the damage… Glorious. But, you of all people should know that when you force someone into the abyss… Well, sometimes the darkness takes hold of them. There was only so much the Doctor could do to him, only so much he could lock away or heal. Someone like me can still access it all, even if the soul can’t.”

The demon tapped the side of his skull, chuckling.

"The darkness  _did_  cling to him. It dug its talons in hard. And I? I’m that. I’m the darkness. Pushed him just a little too far, you did, and behind the safe walls in his mind is a beautiful gallery of things he’d love to do to you, given the chance. Jealous, he is. Protective. And mad. Fucking furious with you, really, for the pain of course, but also the threats. And the twisted dreams of revenge were just too beautiful to resist. I’m here to make his darkest dreams come true.”

\------ 

He grunted when he slammed against the brick, his heart pounding a little too harder than he’d normally allow. He watched this thing posing as John standing in front of him, trying to get himself off the wall, to force himself off.

His efforts were to no avail. “Yes, thank you, I’m flattered,” he spat. “I’m well aware of what I’ve done to him, thank you.”

He listened carefully, ceasing his attempt to escape from the wall. He was…worried. Not scared, but certainly worried about what this thing would do. John had already given him a preview of the things he was thinking and now he…well, he was worried.

“You think you can break me the way I broke him? That what it is? Johnny boy dreaming about me breaking and all the fun little things to do to a monster that can’t die?” He chuckled. “That’s cute. But please, do your worst.”

_Been through worse pain than this._

_Hopefully._

\------

"Hm… I will.."

With another gesture, a shaft of rebar resting against the furthest wall flew forward, slamming itself through Jim’s shoulder. A second followed suit, pinning the opposite side. Both buried themselves in the brick. The demon reached forward, tearing Jim’s shirt, watching the wounds try to close with heated interest.

"Mmm… it wasn’t a hallucination, then. You can’t be harmed. But you  _can_ feel pain, Mr. Moriarty. I can see it in your eyes.”

The hand he placed against Jim’s chest was hot to the touch, almost radiating heat. 

"I think I’d start with your eyes, if I didn’t want you to watch… I think we’ll begin with something a little more simple." He pulled a scalpel out of his pocket and began to trace the blunt end along Jim’s taut muscles. 

"I wonder how ugly I can make you, Jimmy…"

He began to carve, the same phrase over and over while his flesh knitted and healed.

_I.O.U. I.O.U. I.O.U._

\------

He grunted when the thick metal pieces rammed his shoulders, blood seeping down his body. He tensed a little when his shirt was torn watching the demon with a sneer.

“Yes, wonderful parlor trick. I’m great at parties,” he hissed. He said nothing regarding the pain. And he wouldn’t. He refused to. No begging, no pleading for mercy, nothing. He doubted he’d even give this creature the satisfaction of screaming.

 _Easy to say when it’s Mycroft Holmes. Not so much when it’s some creature that is well aware that you can’t die._ He swallowed.

He saw the scalpel and tensed, muscles clenching. He shut his eyes and focused on breathing, feeling every letter get etched into his skin while his shoulders constantly tried to heal.

_Oh, Jesus…_

\------

John hummed as he worked, grinning slightly. Moriarty didn’t want to look weak? He couldn’t hold out forever. No one could. Not even the great James Moriarty.

As the flesh knit itself back together he drew back, relishing the look of the blood dripping down his skin. He drew a finger through one of the trails, smearing it, tilting his head to the side. When his finger came away bloody, he slipped it into his mouth and sucked.

"Mmm… You taste delicious, Jim."

The demon turned and walked to Jim’s table off implements, waving his hand over the choices. He finally settled on the cattle prod. John had hated it the most- more than the impaling hook, more than his mouth being sewn shut. It was the electricity that had finally broken him, shattering his resolve.

He wondered briefly if it would work on Jim.

"Now don’t hold back, Jim. Tell me if it hurts, would you?"

He pressed it into his black eyes, grinning.

\------

He sneered again when he licked the blood off his finger but managed another smirk. He could take the metal speared in his shoulders and he could certainly stand the other agonies that he’d put him through.

“Hmm, so I’ve been told. By people a lot meaner than you,” he growled, eyes black and void.

He watched him walk away and pluck up the cattle prod. Fuck. He didn’t care for electricity much, not after what it’d done to his head the last time. He tensed as it came toward his face, lip twitching in hate.

“You can go fuck yoursel-”

It pressed into his eyes and he screamed.

Everything went white, popping and burning and leaving no visibility for him to try for. He shuddered against the wall, unable to stop the noise.

_Weak, weak, so fucking WEAK!_

\------ 

The creature wearing John’s body couldn’t help but laugh. Jim was fighting so hard to be defiant, but as the screams echoed through the warehouse his weakness showed through. John retracted the prod, moving closer, licking the boiling jelly from Jim’s cheek. 

"Oooh, look at that. Hurts, doesn’t it? I’m going to watch your eyes grow back. I think it’ll be interesting. I am inside of a doctor, after all- educational for both of us."

He sucked one of Jim’s ruined eyeballs into his mouth, chewing with a smile.

"I like those screams of yours, Mr. Moriarty. They’re glorious."

He shoved the prod down the front of Jim’s trousers, cackling as he twisted and writhed against the metal poles in his chest.

"Having fun yet, Jimmy?"

\------

He felt his eyes run like liquid down his cheeks, blind and gasping for air. He jerked when the demon touched his face, panicking. He thought he might vomit when he heard the slurping.

“You sick little fucker,” he growled, shutting his eyelids as he felt his eyes start to grow back. He gasped and tried to keep any sounds of pain quiet.

He gave a hiss of a breath at his words. “Go fuck yourself, you hellspawn  parasite.”

The prod was down his trousers and he was screaming again, body jerking and writhing with the convulsions as his genitals were burned, eyes still coming back in their sockets.

He opened them again, the brightness of the room making him cringe. “F-fuck you, dick,” he managed between gasps for breath.

\------

"Oh, I’m the sick one? At least I’m not going to touch you. That’s  _your_ thing, not mine.” He clucked his tongue, shaking his head.

"My, you’ve got a mouth on you today. A fighter. It’s sexy." He’d need a bigger tool to shut the Irishman up. The demon giggled.  _A bigger tool. Like that, John?_

On the table, he found something perfectly suited for the job- long nails and a clawed hammer. 

John walked back to him, eyes black, a grin on his face. “I know exactly how to cure that filthy language.”

He pinched the flesh of his lips together and lined up the nail. In one strong stroke, he slammed the hammer down on its head.

\------

He was relieved, honestly. This thing wasn’t going to…to do anything like that to him. Might be able to keep his wits a lot longer without that factor. He sighed a little.

“You ate a fucking eyeball. I jerked him off; big difference between who’s sicker than who, but if you want to play that game, we can,” he gasped raggedly, drenched in sweat with tears in his eyes from pain. But at least his clothes were still on.

“Glad to be of service, cocksucker,” he snarled, still trying to fight, trying to grasp for energy while his groin pulsed and throbbed.

He jerked and twisted his head when he reached for his lips, grunting when he caught them with inhuman strength. “You muvver-”

He screamed again, the sounds muffled as the nails pierced his flesh and dug in, twisted and rusted. He groaned, fresh eyes tearing up at the exposure to the air and the pain his body was enduring. Blood spilled down his chin and he shuddered, forcing himself to look him in the eye.

\------

John added three more nails, sealing his mouth. The screams were exquisite, warming him to his very core.  _See, John? See how **good** it_ feels?

_Fire. You promised him fire, John. I think it’s time to really begin, don’t you? He threatened to fuck Sherlock. He threatened to fuck him slow, make it sexy even. Your lover. He threatened to make him his. Are you going to let him get away with that?_

_… No. God help me, I’m not. Do what you want._

_Oh John… I’m going to do what **you**_   _want._

He hooked the hammer through Jim’s empty belt loops and tugged, his supernatural strength shredding the trousers. There was a small can of gasoline on the lower shelf of the table, probably for fueling the generator giving power to this place. He lifted it and turned back to Jim.

"I wonder how you’ll smell when you’re burning. Mouth-watering, I imagine."

He doused Jim, splashing it against his mostly-bare body, paying extra attention to his skull and his pants. When the can was empty he struck a match.

"Let’s aim for ‘well done’, shall we?"

He tossed the match.

\------

He huffed deep gusts of air through his nose, shaking and bloody. He watched the demon’s eyes and his expression, heart thudding harder.

_What’s he going to do, Jimmy? Take a good long look and figure it out. What’s he gonna do?_

He watched him pick up the petrol can and he shuddered shaking his head, face drenched and dripping with blood. “Don’t.” He tried to say, the nails making it almost impossible.

He winced when it washed over him, shaking hard and coughing on the fumes.

_Oh god, please no…_

The match flew.

He screamed, shrieked and writhed where he hung, the nails tearing out of his skin as he did. He burned head to toe, the skin constantly trying to heal over itself as he sizzles and blistered. He wasn’t sure if he was crying, wasn’t sure if he was speaking coherently or not. All he knew was his genitals were boiling and it was almost worse than having them be touched by strangers. Every bit of him was either burning or healing and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

He prayed that he’d eventually go numb. He coughed on the smoke in his lungs, skin cracked and bleeding, the fire burning and evaporating everything. It surrounded him, consumed him completely. His clothes fell away, leaving him bare and sizzling with nothing to save him.

_You deserve this. You’ve always deserved hell._

\------

The clatter of the nails on the cement made the demon grin. He stood back, watching the conflagration dance before his eyes. Jim couldn’t get away. He writhed against the steel, unable to escape, and it felt  _good._ Trapped in his own body, John fucking  _loved_ it. Moriarty was a monster. Moriarty deserved this. The demon had opened the rage, the hate he felt when Moriarty touched him, when he described what he’d do to Sherlock, and John was seeing red. 

_More._

The flames were already dying, out of fuel.  _Pity,_  he thought. Jim’s flesh was blackened and boiled, his hair gone, eyes melted once more. John leaned against the cart, watching intently as the damage was repaired. It took a good fifteen minutes before Jim was back to peak condition.

_Impressive._

"How are you feeling, Jim? I don’t know about you, but I could go for some steak… I think the next thing on John’s mental list was flaying. Flaying, John? Yes, that’s what I thought… First, though, I’m curious about something."

He picked up the scalpel and stalked toward him, grinning. 

"Tell me, Jim. Doctor Watson and I are curious. Do you have a heart?"

He drove the scalpel in, cutting through his pecs, tearing, wrenching his ribs apart as he forced his arm inside. 

\------

Fifteen minutes of the freshest Hell he’d ever experienced. His body sealed and stitched itself back together, hair growing back, his eyes too, fingernails and any other chunks of skin that had fallen.

He shuddered against the wall, naked and constantly going into shock but his body wouldn’t let him fall unconscious. He swallowed a whimper and the tears in his eyes.

_Oh God, flaying, please, John-_

_After what you’ve done to him there’s no reason this shouldn’t happen to you. You should be in this much pain. You should be scared. You threatened what he loves most in this world and he’s taking his anger out on you._

_First the Doctor, now another one. You deserve worse. Just die you stupid, disgusting miserable piece of pathetic flesh!_

But he couldn’t.

Instead he was ripped open and he screamed again, blood gushing everywhere as his organs were exposed, ribs cracking and breaking. “Stop! STOP IT! STOP, PLEASE!”

_STOP BEGGING FOR SOMETHING AS WORTHLESS AS YOU!_

He shuddered, throat hoarse and throbbing from screaming but now he couldn’t stop.

“It’s there, it’sthereit’sthereit’sthere,” he whimpered. “It’s there, Dr. Watson!”

\------

He actually faltered. John felt himself rise to the surface, looking up at Jim, his blue eyes clear.

"…Jim?"

John’s brow furrowed. He was elbow-deep in the bastard’s chest cavity, close to where his heart was- he could feel it pumping, even if he wasn’t touching it yet. The man sounded… scared. Panicked. 

_"I’d even slick up my hand and work him open with my fingers, watch him squirm and whimper and beg me to stop. He’d get hard, too and be so very upset with himself that he had. I’d take my time putting my dick in him, slow as I can manage, but I’m sure he’s tight and feels exquisite, doesn’t he? I’d make it last so long, hours, even. Until he could do nothing but shake and cry and maybe get the occasional please out. Once I’m through with him he’ll never want to fuck anyone else for as long as he lives. Especially you."_

"No," he croaked, his eyes narrowing. "No, you don’t."

Black bled back into his blue irises, and he grinned.

"You heard him, Jimmy."

His hand moved, gripping the beating muscle in a tight fist and ripping it from his body.

\------

He saw John come through and he gave a small sob of relief. “John, you don’t have to do this, you don’t-”

He screamed with whatever he had left in his lungs, with whatever his body had left, white as a sheet, the blood almost drained from his body. He watched his heart stop in his hand, a tear slipping down his cheek.

_Okay._

He couldn’t scream while his skin sealed itself back together. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t even blink. He stared at John, suffocating with blood seeping from his lips, until finally, the stretching and searing pain in his chest replaced his heart. Ten minutes of screaming in silent agony. He took a ragged gasp for air and coughed, tears in his eyes again.

But okay. He deserved this. He was past verbal forgiveness or any kind from John at this point. No point, no hope for that. He’d atone in blood.

He went limp, breathing slowly and waiting for whatever would come next.

He bowed his head, submitting.

\------

"You’re right. You’re right, he doesn’t have to do this- but I won’t let him stop. He starts to feel bad, you know. He starts to hate your suffering, but then… I open the floodgates, Jim. I remind of what you said to him. I remind him of the way your hands felt on his skin, the way you tasted, the images of Sherlock strung up and at your mercy… I remind him how helpless he felt, how broken and filthy and worthless. And then he gets  _furious.”_ The demon turned the heart in his hand, studying it before setting it on the table of torture implements.

He stepped closer to the limp man, reaching out, grabbing him by the neck. The demon forced Jim’s head up, looking him in the eyes. They were empty, full of pain and resignation. 

"He’s sparing you some, you know. He won’t let me touch you. He won’t let me molest you. The violence, though… Mmm. I’m making him enjoy it. The Doctor’s walls can’t keep me out."

_I promised him a flaying, but… I’d rather try something else. You wanted this. You still want it._

He pressed his lips to Jim’s carotid artery, kissing softly

And then he opened his mouth.

And then he began to rip.

\------

He didn’t move as he spoke, coughing and shuddering. It was true. He deserved every second. Every moment, every last bit of this. John needed this to happen, he needed to get back at him for the suffering he’d put him through. He’d take this punishment until…when? Until John and the demon got bored? How long would that take? And how mad would he be when they were finished?

He hiccuped a sob and kept his head bowed.

He grunted when his face was forced up, staring up at him with wet eyes.

A voice came through that he hadn’t heard in years. He hadn’t needed it. Softer, gentler.

_See, Jim. There it is. There’s your mercy. He won’t touch you. Being naked is okay right now. He won’t take advantage of that. Shh…focus on the pain. Breathe. Just focus and breathe…_

He whimpered when his lips touched his neck, grunting out a whine when he started tearing his flesh. His muscles tensed and his body trembled. Tears fell and it took a moment for him to start screaming, choking on air and his own blood.

\------

The thing that wasn’t John tore the skin and sinew from Jim’s throat, spitting it to the floor before widening the tear, burying John’s face in the blood, drinking from the fount before the skin began to repair itself. He blinked, his eyes bright against the crimson staining his skin, and grinned.

_Stop it, that’s sick._

_Oh, John, I’m not even to the bits that stick out yet._

_This is… fuck, LOOK at him. This is enough. This is more than enough._

_Going soft on me now, John? My, you do look sexy in red. I’m going to do everything, everything you threatened._

_Please, just… look, you have his fucking_ **_heart_ ** _. Can’t we end this?!_

_No._

John’s body stepped back, licking its lips, slicking back his blood-soaked hair. 

"You look so good like that. Red suits you both, I think. Brings out your eyes. Do you want me to stop, Jim? Do you want us to let you rest for the night?"

_I’m so sorry._

\------

He screamed again, sobbing softly. He gurgled and gagged, blood frothing into John’s hair and he waited for some sort of punishment for that.

His mind was regressing back to a state he hadn’t been in in nearly twenty years. Submissive, careful and obedient.

He gagged another mouthful of blood looking at John, waiting, anticipating more agony. Instead he bowed his head again and nodded with tears streaking his cheeks.

“Y-yes,” he croaked. “Please.”

\------ 

John took precautions. He took a few broken hunks of brick from the wall and pushed them onto the ends of the steel, making it impossible for Jim to pull himself off. 

"Alright, Mr. Moriarty. You spent forty-eight hours with John in your grasp. We’re going to do the same."

Still standing close, he looked into those black eyes. So much suffering. So much humiliation. The demon loved it. It made John sick.

_He warned me. He told me I’d be like him some day. Now look at me. I’ve got him pinned like a wasp on an examination tray._

_He had you hooked like a slab of meat. You’re being kinder to him than he was to you. Won’t even touch his cock. Your morals are fucking ridiculous, doctor. After everything he_ **_did_ ** _to you, you won’t give back as good as you got._

_There is skin in my teeth. I taste nothing but blood. I have seen things tonight that ten years overseas can’t even compare to._

His anger at the demon flared, pushing him back in control. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Moriarty. Jim. I’m sorry." God help him, he meant it. "I… When he jumped me, I was terrified, and then he…" John took a deep breath. "He’s coming back. I’ll leave the light on, alright? Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m-"

"Weak, John, is the word you’re looking for. Goodnight, Mr. Moriarty. See you in the morning."

True to his word, John left the light on as he walked out of the warehouse covered in blood.

\------

He winced when the bricks were shoved on the posts, whimpering softly, shuddering.

He nodded at his time-frame, trying to mentally brace himself for god knew what else to come tomorrow.

_Shh…it’s okay, Jim. You get to rest now. You get to rest. Yes, you still have to hang here but at least he hasn’t taken up your challenge to make you eat your own dick, right? Just rest, rest…_

He watched John come back and he winced again, waiting for more pain more agony. What he didn’t expect was the apology. He didn’t speak, he just looked up at him, eyes watering again.

_He’s leaving the light on for you. Shh…_

He watched him leave, waiting for the door to close before he bowed his head and sobbed, the war of voices and opinions in his head screaming and shrieking at him throughout the night. He wasn’t allowed sleep, not that he got it anyway.

He shuddered and gasped, praying.

“Tiger…Tiger…Tiger!”

\------

_We should make him eat his own dick. I liked that one. So creative._

_What the **hell** is wrong with you?!_

_Demon. Duh. Thought you’d be aware of what all comes with that. Sadism, bloodlust, gore fetish…_

John showered, washing the blood from his body, close to breaking. He’d done awful things in the war. He’d shot civs. He’d done a little torture on their prisoners. He’d poisoned enemy supplies.

But this?

This was low. This was sick. Sure, Moriarty was a fucking monster, a sick fuck who got off on torturing others. John would never forget how hard the bastard was against him, touching him, hurting him. 

_You see? He deserves it. he deserves **worse.**_

_Cor, but you never shut up._

He turned off the water, watching it run red down the drain.  _I did this. I did this to him. This is the blood of someone else. A criminal, yes. A bad guy. The worst guy. But I… my hands did this._

_Don’t go soft on me, Doctor Watson. We’re not done with him yet._

John climbed under the blankets naked and wet, shivering in the chill air. He drifted into an uneasy sleep filled with screams and blood, the demon running rampant in his mind. He woke up shrieking five hours later, the images of Moriarty burning dancing before his eyes. He needed to get back there. He needed to end this- before it destroyed him.

He dressed quickly and returned, the demon forcing him back once more.

_"Heeeeere’s Johnny!"_

\------

He dreamt, or hallucinated, he wasn’t sure which. The searing pain in his shoulders and the damage throughout his weary body still healing kept him in a haze.

He cried softly, sobbing for Sebastian, his Tiger that could never come home to him. That’s when he felt gentle hands on his face, slowly lifting it to meet his eyes. “T-Tiger?”

_“Shh…I’m here. It’s okay, Jim, it’s going to be okay.”_

“Tiger, help me, please. I’m scared,” he pleaded tears falling silently down his face, staring up into those eyes filled with so much worship and care.

_“Boss, it’s okay. You can get through this, you’re gonna be alright.”_

“Come back to me,” he pleaded, shaking his head. “I need you, please come back.” Sebastian thumbed his cheek, giving him a sad smile.

_“You know it’s not that easy.”_

“Please!”

_“You just buckle down and handle this, okay? You can get through it. You’re so strong. Strongest person I’ve ever seen.”_

“How?” He croaked. Sebastian pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead that elicited a quiet sob from the criminal.

 _“Think about me. If it hurts more than losing me, then…I don’t know what he could do to make that happen, Boss. I love you.”_  The assassin caressed his cheek before fading to nothing. Just a figment in Jim’s mind to cope.

He sobbed again, jumping when the door opened. He quickly forced his hand to rip through tendons and wipe his face, swallowing his tears. he could do this. He was Jim fucking Moriarty. He could do this. He smirked.

“Miss me already?

\------ 

John nodded. 

"Yes, I did. I see you’re back with that fiery Irish temper. Good. I’m glad. I love it when you fight."

He looked up, head cocked, black eyes admiring the smug-looking man. It would feel so good to break to him, to make him scream all over again…

"John’s taken a backseat today. I’ve put him to sleep for the day. I’m off the leash."

The demon grinned at Moriarty, running a hand down his bare chest. 

"First, though, maybe we should get you cleaned." 

The bucket on the table was empty, but it didn’t take long for John to fill it. He splashed the frigid liquid onto Jim’s body, watching the caked blood drip away. He moved closer, touching his chest again.

"Are you hungry, Jim?"

\------

He gave a sneer of a smile at him. “It’s a curse, really,” he spat, wondering where in god’s name this was coming from, but fuck it, he’d use it.

John wasn’t there…John had boundaries, John had lines he wouldn’t cross, this thing didn’t. The demon would…god, he didn’t want to know what this thing could possibly do to him.

Bracing himself didn’t work when the water struck him like a sheet of ice that melded to his body. He grunted, shivering on the bars.

He stared at him a moment before answering. “No,” he said softly. “No, I’m not hungry. Lost my appetite after I smelled myself cooking.”

\------

"That’s a pity. If you get hungry, you’ll let me know, won’t you?"

Ah, the smell of him burning… perfect. It had been absolutely mouth-watering. The demon would never forget.  _John_ would never forget.

He paced back and forth in front of him, eyes never leaving his body. 

"I’m going to try something a little different today, Jim. Something less physically painful."

The demon caught Jim’s chin in his hand and grinned, stroking his jaw.

"…Maybe I should have left the blood."

He forced his mouth upon his, stealing a violent, hard kiss. His free hand traveled down his abdomen, toward his pelvis, stroking the soft hair nestled there.

\------

He’d eat his own tongue before telling this thing he was hungry. He’d starved before, for weeks, and he’d do it again. He didn’t care. Not anymore.

But he knew that look. That…that desire, hunger and need to hurt him with…well, with something he never wanted to be touched with again.

He tensed when he got near, and when he touched his face. “Don’t.”

The kiss was awful, a mixture of John’s skin and an acrid sulfuric taste that made his eyes water. The pressure made his lips bleed, gagging slightly on his tongue.

He whimpered when his hand descended, unable to help it. He writhed, trying to jerk away, his heart thudding, body shaking already.

_No, no please, not that. God, please, no!_

\------

John’s body grinned. 

"Don’t like to be touched, do you? Mmm… And yet you violate others. That’s interesting to me, Jim."

His fingertips brushed his cock, stroking softly as his lips made their way down his torso. He bit, hard, leaving dark bruises that faded as quickly as they rose. The demon brought John’s other hand to grip the meat of his arse, kneading the muscle, digging his nails in.

He traveled back up, gripping him a little more surely, lips brushing his ear.

"John would never admit it, but he liked the way you felt against him. You lied, though."

He squeezed his shaft, chuckling. 

"You’re not bigger. Equal, I’d say… and I’m an  _expert._ ”

\------

He whimpered again when he grabbed him, shaking his head. “No, no, stop. Please, stop!”  _Begging already…_

He tried to focus on stopping his body from reacting while battling the flashes of so many other memories ripping through his mind, keeping him from thinking about much of anything. The water in his eyes quickly turned to tears and he started to shake.

The demon’s mouth was all over him, sucking marks he could never prove into his skin, hissing as they healed. “S-stop it, stop…” The hand on his arse elicited another whimper and a tear fell, an audible squeal when he squeezed tighter, knees giving. 

 _Why is this happening? Please_!

_Deserve this, deserve what he gives you, what he’s going to do to you…_

He jerked away when he whispered, sobbing once at the painful squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

\------

"No, no, you aren’t. But you will be."

John’s grip got tighter, more painful, but only briefly. He began to work his hand along Jim’s shaft, pressing his body against the captive man’s.

"God, look at you… you’re sexy. See? Already I’m being kinder to you than you were to him. Ugly, you called him. Pathetic. Weak. And I? I compliment."

He rocked his denim-clad hips, hard beneath the zipper.

"I thought about doing this the way you described doing it to him… I think I’ll settle for just a little taste, though. Let’s see if your blood will respond, Jim. Let’s see if I can get you  _hard.”_

\------

“I am sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ve been sorry since it happened. You have to-”

He screamed, finally allowing a sob to escape his throat, member giving a painful throb. The pain took a bit more of his focus, godawful nightmares that had once been real of being squeezed, clawed, burned and rubbed raw taking over in another harsh sob.

He gasped at the warmth pressed against him, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up and a wave of gooseflesh clinging to his damp and frigid skin. “Stop it, please.” The organ was reacting on its own accord, stimulus and simple bloodflow and anything but arousal making it happen.  _“Please!”_  Tears rolled down his cheeks, trembling and trying to jerk away. The compliment made bile rise in the back of his throat.

“Let me go, let go, please, I’ll be good!” He shuddered, the realities starting to mix. “Plehease…”

_At lease he isn’t going to fuck you._

_Yet._

“No, no, I don’t want- God, I’m not- Please!” His chest hitched when the demon moved against him, member hard. He whimpered and looked away, his dignity gone already, hard in the demon’s hand. “Please, stop it. I can’t do this again, please…”

\------ 

John’s body hummed appreciatively. 

"Mmm… I like the way you feel. I believe you gave John an ultimatum."

He began to move his hand, running his tongue along the muscles of Jim’s back.

_Stop._

_Make me, John. James Moriarty’s been on our radar for a long time. I’m going to make him come, John. I’m going to make him shout your name._

_You’re sick. Let him_ ** _go_** _. Leave him alone! Look, he’s suffering! You have what you want, what_ ** _I_** _want, just… just stop_   _it!_

"I’ll extend the same courtesy to you," he whispered, rolling his thumb over the head of Jim’s cock. "If you come for me, I’ll let you down. If you don’t… well, I’d like to experiment with your whip and John’s scalpel…"

\------

_“Come on, boy, come for me. You like it, you like it so much, like my dick, like me touching you, don’t you?”_

“Please, oh god, please…” He cringed away from his mouth, sobbing and shaking his head. “Anything else, not this, please!”

 _“Ooh, little virgin hole, all for me…”_  

“Dr. Watson, I’m sorry!” He screamed. “I’m sorry for everything I did to you! I-I ruined everything you had and I’m so sorry. I-I wouldn’t have hurt Sherlock! I don’t want to, I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he cried, shuddering hard, whimpering under the touches. “I’ve hated myself since the moment I left you and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry. I deserve this, all this. B-but I wanted you to know!”

He didn’t want to come, he didn’t. Not again. He’d go mad, he’d…he’d break. “Please, please, no…” He whimpered when he thumbed his head. But with everything, with everything happening, everything in his head, the memories, the pain, the hot body pressed against his naked flesh and the hand coaxing a release from him.

Which was worse? Coming for another monster or getting his dick sliced open?

“Okay, I’ll come! I’ll come, I’ll come, okay…” He resigned, shattering to pieces.

\------

_Stop it! Let him go, don’t make me do this!_

_You **want** to do this. _

_No, I don’t! Hurting him, god, yes, I wanted to hurt him, but I **refuse** to be this sort of monster. I am not him! I am not going to  **be** him! You can’t make me! _

"You know… it’s rare for me to be able to torture two people at once. He  _hates_ this, hates what I’m doing to you. Funny, isn’t it? So much righteous fury yesterday, and now? Just as weak as you, Jim. I’m going to love breaking you both.”

He stabbed into Jim with the surgical blade, twisting it deep, slipping a finger into the wound and pulling it away bloody. The hand stroking Jim began to move faster. 

"You’re quite the good little psychopath, aren’t you, Jim? Pleading, begging, pliant… just how I like my men."

The demon began to probe him with his blood-slicked finger, dragging teeth across his skin.

  _I’m so sorry, Jim._

\------ 

He tried to breathe through it, to concentrate and breathe, just breathe, but he couldn’t. It hurt, it hurt more than burning, more than being hung up here, more than having his mouth nailed shut and his heart ripped out. It hurt all the way into his bones, wrapped around his brain and stabbed from the inside out. It ripped and tore his heart and wrung out his soul like a tired shirt in the laundry.

He stared at the demon with swollen eyes and shaking lips, still freezing save for where his heat was. In his haze, he was partially grateful for it. God, he was regressing again. He’d fall into this pattern so easily…

“Don’t hurt John, I alre-already-!” He broke off into a harsh cry that tore from a sore throat when he was stabbed. He whimpered at the finger, eyes pleading when he looked up into his eyes.

He was a toy again. Nothing but a plaything that didn’t matter. A sack of flesh with an orifice and a voice. He didn’t matter. This thing was getting him off for his own enjoyment, and he’d rub him raw until he got the reaction he wanted, Jim had seen it before. It made him sick to think about.

“Please, please stop, no…” He whimpered, jerking away from the finger trying to work its way inside of him. he sobbed aloud again, shaking his head, tensing away but inadvertently thrusting up into his fist, the monster’s mouth on him. “Please, please, just stop, make it stop…” He knew he was pleading to no one.

There was never any salvation in Hell anyway.

\------

_STOP THIS STOP IT STOP STOP STOP!_

_Oh, John… tsk, tsk, tsk. There’s no going back. You’re a night surgeon now, beautiful, and we’re going to utterly destroy this man. You’re stuck with me. And now, stuck with him as well._

_Please, please, just… beat him, whip him, cut him, but don’t do this. Don’t do this to him, please, PLEASE JUST_ "LOOK AT HIM JUST STOP THIS, STOP IT, I’M NOT GOING TO DO THIS TO HIM, ALRIGHT? YOU CAN’T MAKE ME!"

John stopped, panting, bloody, hands at his sides, clenched. There were tears on his face. He looked up at Jim, whimpering above him, and felt his stomach sink.

"Moriarty. Jim. I heard, I heard everything, I’m sorry too, I am. I’m trying, I’m trying to stop him, please, just… just hang on, okay? No matter what he does, it’s not me, I never wanted this, I never wanted him to touch you, I never wanted him, I never… revenge, yeah, that’s… it was locked away, the doctor locked it away, and then I got ambushed on a hunt, and… just, just hang on, okay? Please, I’ll-"

His blood-shot blue eyes snapped to back almost forcefully, John’s head rocking as though it had been slapped. The demon looked furious.

"Extra punishment for his little outburst, I think. Let’s see how loud I can make him scream."

The Not-John dropped to its knees rather harshly and wrapped its lips around Jim’s cock.

Internally, John was shrieking. This was violating his body  **and** Jim’s, and it wasn’t fucking  _fair._ He didn’t deserve this. Jim didn’t deserve this. For the first time since the Doctor worked his magic, John wished he had just died on the meathook.

\------

He gasped, shuddering and coughing as he cried. “No, don’t, please!”

He flinched when John yelled looking into his eyes. His blue ones. “J-John?” John was crying, and screaming…and saying he didn’t want to hurt him. “John, please, please, not this. I can’t be tortured this way again, plehease, I can’t! I…” He listened, crying a little harder.

“I’ll try. I’ll try, I will. I’m so sorry…” He whimpered, trembling everywhere. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold out, how much he could constantly endure if…if the demon kept at this. “John- John?” The eyes were black again, and…and so very angry.

“Wait, wait, no, PLEASE! PLEASE NO!”

He shrieked when the creature’s mouth, John’s mouth, wrapped around him, engulfing him in awful heat, biting at his sensitive flesh, hurting him. “Nohoh, stop it!  _STOP IT! PLEASE, DON’T DO THIS!”_

He wanted to cry for Sebastian but knew damn good and well that that wasn’t going to help anything. Instead he let what was left of his sanity fall and break, body reacting involuntarily to the treatment. He sobbed much harder, shaking all over, praying John would come back.

He pushed through, just a little. “It’s okay, John. It’s okay, don’t be upset. It’s okay!”

\------

_Kill me. Just kill me. Please._

_Where’s the fun in that, John?_

_Sherlock. Sherlock. Sherlock… I can’t face him if I’m… Please, Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me-_

_You’re going to make him come, John. And you’re going to swallow, because if you don’t? I’ll kill the vessel._

_I… god damn you, you fucking monster._

_He already has, my little captain._

One hand fondled Jim’s testicles as John’s mouth worked, black eyes turned up to the pleading man. Every now and then the black faded, leaving John terrified and broken in their stead. It was like he was leaving just often enough to terrify him. It was terrible. He hated it. Things were finally back to normal, and now… Now this…

\------

“No more, no more, please!” He shook his head, whimpering and crying. He tensed, a hand now fondling and rolling his testicles with such a gentle, soft touch. Somehow that made it so much worse.

Sweat worked over his body, refusing to acknowledge the growing heat in his lower belly, the bodily response he was having to the stimulation. He shook his head, grunted, winced, bit through his tongue several times just to keep himself back. He had to.

He wouldn’t…not in John’s mouth, no. He-he couldn’t do that… He kept his eyes on him, for John’s sake, giving him something grounding. He hissed, watching the eyes change back and forth, still sobbing with his knees trembling. “I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please…”

\------

_We’re in this together, unfortunately. I’m so sorry, Jim._

John could tell Jim was getting close, and he wanted to flee. He tried to force his way back into control, to get away, get out of there, to stop it from happening. He wanted to turn back time, to keep himself from going on the hunt, to carve the anti-possession seal into his chest. Unfortunately, none of that could happen. 

Above him, Jim was pleading, and he was useless to stop it. He felt bad for him, for having to go through this. It was… fuck, it was worse than he ever would have guessed, from the shit Jim said to him last month when  _he_ was in his position. And now he was being forced to experience this, something obviously more traumatic for him than even being burned alive.

And it was his fault.

_Not yours, doctor. Mine. You’re too weak to do what needs to be done, but I’m not. I’m not afraid at all. Just watch._

It swirled his tongue, picking up speed, encouraging Jim’s body to release.

\------ 

He shook violently, his throat hoarse as he cried and squirmed fruitlessly to get away. “Please…” was all he could manage anymore.

He didn’t want to do this, this was the last thing on earth he ever wanted to experience again or make John go through.

“Please, d-don’t make me do this. Don’t make him do this, ah!”

Don’t come, don’t come, don’t come…

 ”Please, please, just stop it! Pl-please!” He was close, he was so very, very close and he was trying so hard not to. “Please…”

\------

_Yes. Feel that, Doctor Watson? I think he likes you._

_Fuck off, you monster._

_Mmm, maybe if you’re good._

With his free hand, the demon began to caress the cleft of Jim’s ass, moving toward his opened hole. He pressed a finger in, burying it to the knuckle, searching inside of him, brushing the bundle of nerves gently.

_No no no no no no no no no no no no-_

_Oh yes, John. Yes. Tell me how he tastes._

He pressed a little harder, stroking it while he worked his mouth.

\------

He squealed and threw his head back at the fingers toying and pushing inside of him. He tried desperately to jerk away, pulling on the bars in his shoulders with blood trickling down his arms toward his mouth.

He shuddered, whimpering. “No, no, no…”

His head fell back, another scream ripping from his throat when he pressed against his prostate. His vision went white, body spasming as he shot down John’s throat.

He gasped and shuddered, sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, John. I’m sorry.” His mind was fractured, soul absolutely shattered and hollowed. He was broken. Just…broken.

\------

John could do nothing but experience as the demon swallowed Jim’s thick come, internally screaming as the thing controlling his body stood. 

"Absolutely delicious… I’m a thing of my word, after all. You’re free to go, Jim. I’ll leave John to let you down." He leaned in close to his ear, standing on John’s tiptoes. "You were wonderful." It backed off.

_Make me forget._

_I’ll fix everything the Doctor did for you, but this? This gets to stay. I broke you both today, and it was amazing. Thanks for the party, Doctor Watson._

Black smoke forced itself out John’s throat as he screamed, tears in his eyes, the pain unbearable as the demon left his body. He collapsed, wrapping his arms around his body, sobbing.

"I’ll.. I’ll get you down, just… give me a minute…"

He started to cough, retching, but nothing came up. Heaves wracked his body as he laid on his side.

_weak weak wretched pathetic unclean filthy_

Slowly, he made it to his knees, still coughing, still sobbing, shaking as he crawled toward Jim. He used the bars to pull himself up, whispering wet apologies.

"I’m sorry I’m so sorry I am so fucking sorry… I’m going to pull them out quick, so… be… be prepared to, um, fall… I can… God, Jim, I’m so fucking sorry… Here, I’ll… grab my arm, if you need to…"

Bracing himself, he gripped the rebar.

"Three, two, one."

He pulled.

\------ 

He whimpered softly and turned away from his mouth, his mind a battlefield of recent and remembered agonies. At least this time he was only strung up for two days and not three. He didn’t plead or beg with it, only shivered and let his tears fall.

He felt hollowed, like a gourd that had been scraped of it’s insides. Nothing left but a shell. He closed his eyes and tensed as the demon left the doctor and he fell to the ground.

“J-John?” He whimpered, watching him. Oh, god, what if he left him here?

He watched him cough and retch up nothing, sick to his own stomach and still shaking.

_He wants you out of him, he wants everything about your disgusting hide out, got it? Fucking filthy, pathetic, unworthy, unholy monster._

He couldn’t move his arm when John asked him to. What was the point, anyway? His apologies…God, why was John apologizing to him? He should be saying he was sorry for putting him through this, for being so weak and coming when he should have let him cut up his dick like he’d threatened.

He couldn’t speak anymore, throat raw, shaking against the rebar. He couldn’t touch John, either. He didn’t want to touch anyone. He was naked, used, nailed to the wall, bloodied and bruised and god, he didn’t want to touch a single person ever again.

So instead, when John grabbed the bars he leaned his head back and shut his eyes, still shaking with quieter sobs.

He fell to the ground with a wet thud, sobbing and aching all over, bleeding. He curled into himself, covering himself, crying desperately.

\------

John took off his jacket and draped it over Jim’s shoulders, trembling himself. He kept whispering choked apologies, his eyes bloodshot and dripping with tears.

"Jim, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry." 

He scooted away, giving him space.

"It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me, Jim. I swear, it wasn’t me."

John could still taste him, slightly sour but not the worst he’s had, and part of it churned his stomach.

_Not Sherlock not Sherlock not Sherlock_

His body was Sherlock’s temple, and it had been defiled. It hurt. It hurt deeper than he ever could have anticipated.

\------

He flinched away when he touched him, curled against the wall, shivering and crying. He shook with tremors and soft whimpers, his hands on his head.

He coughed and stammered, wracked with the constant flood of new memories mixing with the older ones, falling into a string of panic attacks that wouldn’t stop.

He hardly heard it when John spoke, looking up at him. “Why are you apologizing to  _me?”_ He managed, staring up at him with bleary eyes.

\------

"Because… because my body did this to you. I should have… fuck, I should have gotten the seal tattooed like all the hunters, then this never would have happened… You wouldn’t be… and I’d…"

His voice broke and he buried his face in his hands.

"It shouldn’t bother me, not after what you did, but I’m not… I can’t stand seeing people hurt. I can’t stand being the one who put them in that state. For fuck’s sake, I’m a  _doctor._  I’m not… not what that thing was. What that thing made my body be.”

John wiped his face, a fruitless effort since the tears kept coming. 

"Do you… Jim, should I leave? I’m making this worse, aren’t I?"

_Both violated, both molested, both broken. Almost like we’re brothers now, not that either of us could ever see the other that way._

\------

“Didn’t have to happen again, why did it happen again?” He whimpered, not knowing that he was speaking aloud. “Wasn’t supposed to happen again. Pain, sure, but not that, not that…” He trembled under John’s jacket, still so naked and surrounded by the smell of skin that made his stomach clench.

“I am sorry, John. I’m so, so very sorry,” he whimpered. “I-I’ve been sorry since it happened, since I left you. I-I’d never hurt Sherlock, I don’t want to…” He bowed his head, sobbing. “I don’t want to hurt Sherlock, I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. I’m so tired…I mean that, god, do I.”

He didn’t know what he wanted John to do. John should go home, to Sherlock where he would be loved and cared for properly and Jim…Jim should be left to slither and limp back into the darkened hovel he came from.

“You-you can leave me here,” he nodded, still trying to breathe. “G-go to Sherlock and-and it’ll be okay. I’ll be alone like I’m supposed to. Like monsters are meant to be.”

\------

_Again? Oh, fuck, of course, Jim’s… Jim’s been assaulted before… god dammit, what have I done?_

"I… I know, I believed you the, um. The moment you spoke. Earlier. For what it’s worth, I… I forgive you, Jim. I probably… That probably couldn’t happen, without the Doctor’s help, but I do. It’s… it’s okay. Really. I’m fine. You…"

_Monster monster monster he’s right he’s_

_No. No, I don’t think he is._

"You’re not a monster, Jim," he said quietly. "You don’t… you don’t have to be alone in the dark. If I can help, in any way, please… please, let me. I owe it to you after this… after this fucking nightmare."

\------

He sniffed, staring at him.

“You’re not alright. You just had to…that thing made you…” He shut his eyes, giving a hard shudder. “I’m sorry I-I wasn’t strong enough. I tried, I tried so hard, John. I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t understand why John didn’t think that. “After what I did, what I said, how I touched you, I… How can you say I’m not a monster?”

\------

"… Okay, no, I’m not alright, not about this. I had… I had help, with the… with the last encounter. Shhh, it wasn’t your fault, Jim, it wasn’t. I promise." He swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes swollen from crying. "You tried, and I could tell and I… I appreciate that. You’re not weak. You’re not. What it…"

He cut himself off, trying not to think about it.

"Jim… I… I did. I won’t lie. I hated you. You… I  _did_ think you were a monster, there in the hospital, having to tell Sherlock… having to tell Sherlock what happened…”

John looked down at his feet, biting his lip. It was hard to talk about.

"But the Doctor, he… he fixed my mind. He replaced all the suffering, the fear, the anger with  _good_ emotions, locking them away, separating me from them. I could remember everything that happened, but it… it didn’t hurt. It wasn’t allowed to. Trying to tap into them would push me away, make me remember happier things, like drawing a curtain over them. It was nice. So, once he… once he helped…”

He looked up, sadly, meeting Jim’s eyes.

"Monsters don’t feel. Monsters don’t break. You broke long before you kidnapped me. You felt, long before you kidnapped me. You’re a person, Jim. More intelligent and more dangerous than most, but still human."

His voice was quiet, and shaking, but it was true.

"I’m not saying you’re weak, please, don’t… don’t be offended. I’m just… you feel, just like anyone else."

\------

He felt so…small. Frail and fragile even though his body was almost completely healed. The blood was striking against his pale skin, drenched in it, some of it smeared down his torso either from John’s hands or the water he’d splashed over him before.

He couldn’t stop his own tears, looking up at John still. “Yeah, he…he told me…and beat the shit out of me for what I did to you,” he whispered.”Which is good, and so is what he did for you. He shouldn’t have had to, you’re a good man, Dr. Watson.”

“Just because I feel or…or broke doesn’t make me any better,” he whispered. “I still…” God, his entire body hurt. He whimpered softly, head throbbing as he continued to cry. ”I took everything from you. I ruined so much for you and it’s not okay. It’s not. Nothing could possibly make up for everything I’ve done.”

“It doesn’t change anything and if-if you’ve had your revenge and you think that I’ve paid for what I did then it’s okay. It’s worth it if not…” He took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and nodding. “If not then I just n-need another minute, please. And you can do what you need to.”

\------

"…My revenge was over last night. Everything else was… everything else was that bloody thing having a laugh. With my fucking body. And this…"

He covered his face again, trying to regain his composure. He wasn’t helping, he was making it worse.

"You have done terrible things. But you. Are not. A monster. And if I can say that?" 

John wiped his face and lowered his hands, meeting Jim’s gaze. The man was in pain, more emotional than physical, and the doctor (and the father) inside of John wanted to help him. Logically, he knew there was nothing he could do. He was the cause of this; this relapse, it was his fault. Sure, he hadn’t wanted this, he’d also been an unwilling participant, but that didn’t make it hurt any less.

"Jim, I am looking you in the eyes. A man you… a man you broke. Someone who, as you keep repeating, should hate you. And I am telling you that you do not deserve this. You don’t deserve to suffer like this. You’re not a monster. What does that tell you?"

He looked down at his knees, where they pressed against his chest. 

"Do you… do you have extra clothes here I could bring to you? I don’t imagine you want to be, um. So. So, um bare."

\------

“I’m sorry it used you,” he whimpered.

_“Open your mouth like a good boy. There you go. All the way in.”_

_“YOU SWALLOW WHATEVER THE FUCK WE GIVE YOU!”_

_“Now don’t you just taste delicious?”_

He gave another harsh sob, fingers clawing into his scalp.

He didn’t understand what John was saying, or why he was saying it. How could he tell him he wasn’t a monster? He…he just couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea that John wasn’t standing there cackling at his pain and telling him he deserved whatever hell this was. It didn’t make sense, John’s kindness.

“It tells me that one of us is delusional,” he breathed, shuddering.

He clenched his eyes shut and shook his head. “N-no. I have nothing here.” His clothes had burned away some time ago, and he thanked god that he’d left Seb’s tags with his phone some fifteen feet away. God knows what would have happened if the monster had seen them.

\------

Frowning, John nodded. That wouldn’t do.

"Would you… I could go, um. Get you some, if you like. I, ah. I want to help. Please. Let me."

This whole bloody thing was his fault. He couldn’t make it right, but he could at least give Jim his dignity back.

\------ 

He sniffled, wiping his face. “You, you want to help me?” He trembled, naked and damp with blood drying uncomfortably on his skin. Traumatized, weak, so weary. He just wanted to curl up here alone and wait to see how long it would take someone like him to starve to death. That might be nice. Or awful, either way. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. He had nothing. And no one. How it should be…

\------

"Of course I want to help you. Please, let me. Or at least let me help you home so you’re somewhere… safer."

He didn’t want to hurt him, he didn’t want to see him like this. As if Jim didn’t hate him enough without the added pressure of John seeing him scared and hurt. Why couldn’t things just… be normal, just for once? No possessions, no kidnappings… couldn’t he go a year without blood on his hands?

"Jim. I’m sorry. Let me help."

He was being repetitive, but he didn’t care.

\------

He swallowed again, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do that. You-you don’t have to feel obligated to do that,” he breathed. He shut his eyes, leaning his head against the concrete.

 _It’s so cold, god, I’m so cold. I just want my tiger, I want my tiger and I want to go home…_  He wasn’t sure if he was speaking or not.

_You don’t have a home._

He cried again, squeezing his knees. “I…I don’t want to be naked anymore.”

\------

"It’s not that I feel I  _have_ to. I’m not offering for me. I’m offering for you.”

Some of Jim’s words came through, enough to strike John right to his very core. He needed to fix this. He had to.

"Will you… If you… Hell. If you tell me where you’re staying, I can get you some clothes. Or, if you’re not comfortable with that, I can walk to the store and get you something temporary."

\------

He wanted to throw up, or scream or-or something.

He didn’t know what to do, or say. He couldn’t walk to his apartment stark naked and drenched in blood. He’d…well, he’d get more of the same or tossed in jail or…

“I don’t know,” he shuddered, speaking truthfully. “I don’t know what to do, John.”

\------

"Just tell me what size you wear. I can walk to get you clothes from the store, and you can stay here where it’s… well, I dunno if I’d call a place like this safe, but saf _er_ than other places. I also need to know what you want. Jeans and a shirt I imagine, pants and socks too? Maybe a jacket?”

\------ 

God, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t understand and he was much too tired to think about it.

“Th-the tags here are different. Just…medium,” he trembled, flushing, embarrassed and bordering humiliated. “Denims, pants and a shirt. That’s all I need. Please. Don’t live far,” he rasped.

\------

John nodded. “I’ll be back. Just… stay here so I can bring them to you. I won’t be long.”

He already had his phone out to call a cab as he walked toward the exit. There was a Wal-Mart not ten minutes away.

 ------

“Where the fuck am I gonna go?” He said softly.

He watched John walk away, sobbing softly when he left. Alone and overcome by things out of his control.

His mind dragged him away, distanced him from where he was and left him a whimpering mess in fading light, John’s canvas jacket on his shoulders not enough to keep him warm. He slowly descended into the aftershocks, panic attacks so severe he might have had a heart attack.

Not that it mattered if he did.

\------

John rested his head against the cool glass window, letting the sobs come again. Let the cabby judge him, he didn’t care. This was insane. Jim Moriarty… A man he had loathed for so long it came as second nature to him. Here he was, aching for him, wanting to fight his demons back and somehow bring him back to his old snarky, cruel self. Sure, they’d never had much exposure. Just three meetings before the… the torture.

The lab.

Harmless, handsome Jim from IT, dating Molly, flirting with Sherlock. It raised his hackles. He had spoken for Sherlock, a little jealous of the slim young man, and he’d been miffed about the idea of him leading Molly on to get at the detective. They were his friends. he wanted to protect them.

221B/The Pool.

Taken from the sidewalk in front of the flat, in the back of Jim’s slick black car, the man deigning to get his hands dirty for a change as he strapped the bomb to his chest, hands a little too frisky, voice hot against his ear. John was not scared, not really- he was furious as the criminal whispered in the darkness. He didn’t feel the fear until he stepped out of the dressing room, the look of terror on Sherlock’s face, his moment of doubt. And the laser sight on his heart. Then… then he was afraid. And he remained afraid until Sherlock ripped the vest from him, releasing a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Then he was back to his old self, ready to die in the line of duty. As long as it was on his terms.

Kitty Riley’s apartment.

Hair disheveled, eyes full of terror. Such a good actor, Jim Moriarty. John was furious, and he was pleading.  _Doctor Watson, I know you’re a good man. Please don’t… don’t hurt me…_

Fuck. He’d done it again, except this time Jim wasn’t acting.

He hurried through the store, picking out what Jim had asked for, rushing to get back. Thinking hurt. Thinking made him feel more like a monster. He climbed back into the cab, glad it had waited, and directed it back to the warehouse.

\------ 

He hugged John’s jacket tighter around his shoulders when he knew John was long gone, needing something, anything to make it stop for a minute.

He managed to lean far enough to grab Sebastian’s dog tags, clinging to them and crying too hard. He felt a blood vessel pop in his eye, then heal itself seconds later.

_Ooh, such a fiery one._

_Open. Open your mouth and you get to eat today._

_There’s a good boy._

_Oh, bad boys get punished._

_“I WAS GOOD! I WAS A GOOD BOY! I DID WHAT YOU SAID! PLEASE, JUST LET ME SLEEP! LET ME SLEEP PLEHEASE, I WAS A GOOD BOY!”_

He whimpered, biting his lip so hard it bled to keep from screaming. “Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…” He prayed, rocking back and forth, shaking his head. God, he just wanted this to be over. And he didn’t want to be naked anymore. He wanted something more than this goddamn jacket, hell, he wanted to use it to cover himself but it felt…wrong to do that with one of John’s belongings. Considering he was probably sickened by the smell of Jim’s skin already, let alone using it to hide his shame.

He leaned his head against the wall, crying softly and coughing. He even threw up again, waiting for the silence to be pierced.

“I want my tiger,” he shuddered, hiccuping sobs. “I want my tiger. Tiger, Tiger, Tiger…”

\------

Bag in hand he entered, shaking slightly. He approached Jim, who was huddled against the wall, and held it out to him. 

"If you’d like some privacy while you change, I can step outside."

_Despite all the bloody odds, I just want his nightmare to be over. I just want him to be safe. No one should have to go through this. Not him. Not anyone. Ever._

\------

“Please,” he whimpered, looking at the bag but unable to meet his eyes. He waited for him to set it down before he took it, not looking inside it until John was outside.

He stood on trembling legs, shrugging out of John’s jacket and dressing quickly, his hands trembling and desperate to get them on. He threw the tags over his neck, the weight comforting around his neck. He folded John’s coat neatly and set it on top of the bag some feet away. His shirt was too small, pants too big, but that was okay. At least now he didn’t have to look at the disgusting mess that was his body.

He curled back against the wall where he had been, toying with the dirtied tags, unsure if he should say something for John to come back in or not.

After half an hour, John decided to head home. He took one of his business cards out of his wallet and wrote a quick message, slipping it under the door.

_I’m so sorry. -JW_

He began the long walk back to the flat.

\------ 

He started at the sound, unsure how long he’d been there. He stepped toward it shakily, picking it up off the floor. He let out a choked sound, pocketing it with hot tears stinging his eyes.

He turned back toward the jacket, unsure what to do with it.

He ended up hanging it on the inside portion of the door in case he wanted it, or if he didn’t. Something of John’s that had touched him should probably be burned anyway.

He sniffed, getting his phone again, staring at the alternate entrance pointed toward his own flat. Or prison. Or hell. They were all the same. He staggered down the sidewalk, head down, the sky dark. He shivered in the cold air, confused, aching and so weak, mind scraped raw.

He stayed where he was, sniffling, not wanting to leave, wondering vaguely if he should take the jacket  _to_  John instead of standing here like a lost child. But he couldn’t move. He held his arm, tears falling again as he bit his lip.

Sometimes he just wished he wasn’t so… _him._

\------

John only made it about twenty yards before he remembered his coat. Black, with the patches. His favorite. He stopped and turned back, nervous. John knocked at the door with a trembling hand.. 

"Um, Jim? May I… May I come in?"

_The last thing he needs is you sticking around, making the wounds hurt more._

\------ 

He jumped again, this time with a soft yelp that echoed around him. He backed up from the door, his stance the same, still scared.

“Y-yes,” he called back, wiping his face for no reason. The tears would be back just as quick.

\------ 

John entered slowly, swollen eyes downcast.

"I, um. My jacket, I… S’my favorite, could I… Could I get it back?"

His voice broke a few times as he spoke, so ashamed of himself, of his hands, of the pain they’d inflicted.

And he’d fucked up the sizes. Cor, but he was awful.

"Sorry. Um. About the… wrong sizes. I tried. And. Ah, for the. For the everything. Again. Can’t… can’t apologize enough. Words can’t. Can’t make it better, I know, but…"

\------

He nodded and pointed to the knob where the jacket hung, shaking.

He shook his head when he spoke again, scratching the back of his neck and trying so hard to keep himself together. “Thank you,” he managed, holding himself. “N-neither can I. So…so we’re even. Maybe.”

The noise in his head was unbearably loud, sending him into another onset of a panic attack.

\------

He walked over, taking his jacket, settling it over his arm. He should do something. Anything. Anything to fix this. He was a doctor, he was a healer, he needed to…

He needed to heal.

"Jim?" His voice was soft. "Do you… do you want to, um. Talk? I know, I’m not… don’t want me around, probably, but. If you, ah, need it. I’ll. Um, help. In any way I can."

\------

 

He hated being this vulnerable, this  _naked_  even if he was clothed. Maybe if he explained himself, maybe if he understood why he was such a mess right now it could get better.

_No it won’t. You’re a mess twenty years after it fucking happened, it’s not gonna get any better for you, you fucker!_

_But he might understand better. Maybe. Maybe for once someone’ll let the monster speak_.

“T-Talk about what? Why I’m such a-a mess right now?” He shivered. God, he couldn’t stop crying.

\------

"…Anything. Anything you want. If it will help you. If it will help the pain. It’s… It’s, um. This… this wasn’t the first time someone hurt you, was it?" 

John looked at his feet, shaking out his left hand. It was trembling.

"If you don’t… if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand. I don’t… I don’t want make it worse. Cor, I don’t, I swear.”

\------

He leaned against the wall again, having staggered back there. He couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

“No, no it wasn’t,” he choked, shuddering. He wiped his eyes, knowing this would be the first time he’d ever spoken this aloud. “When…when I was sixteen I stole some money from some people. Not much, but enough for them to notice. They found me, caught me and…” He swallowed hard, biting his lip. “Kept me.”

“They put me in a room everyday that was full of no less than ten people and they…they did everything to me,” he sniffled, shivering. “They denied me food, sleep, water; told me if I was a good boy I could get those things but even when I did what they told me to they still hurt me.

“I got fucked in every way you could think of and it was one after another, after another. It-it was constant. I was always tied up or gagged or blindfolded and I was so scared. I was always so scared. They laughed when I was scared. I got beat until I couldn’t move if I cried and they told me not to.

“They made me thank them for coming on my face or inside me. These fuckers _pissed on me_ and I had to  _thank them_  for it,” he sobbed, sliding down the wall to his knees.

“A year they did it. A year before I got away and it was hell, worse than I’ve ever been in and that includes what happened here.” He wasn’t done speaking but his throat clutched, leaving nothing but sobs and whimpers.

\------

John listened in horror, tears in his eyes. Jim had been through so much hell, so much pain…

"Oh my god, Jim. I… I am so,  _so_ sorry… I didn’t…”

_What have I done? I… fuck, I… I put him through that again. I made him relive those memories. What I did doesn’t compare to that, but I still… jesus…_

"How did… I’m glad you got away," he said quietly, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. "No one deserves that. Tell me you hunted them down." His tone was a little forceful. "Tell me you made them pay for what they did. Please. That… they deserve to suffer for that. You were just a kid, Jim,  _christ…”_

\-----

He smoothed his hair back a little, still crying and unable to stop.

“I got one. Found one and…and he definitely got what was coming to him for what he did to me. Other than that there…there were too many. I couldn’t…” He trailed off shakily.

“I was a virgin,” he gulped. “Before they…they took me. I hadn’t-” He choked off, sobbing and shaking all over. He sniffed. “I broke my wrists to get out of the shackles they had me in. Bastard left the door open and I ran. I found cl-clothes and I ran.

“I…I got to a hospital and my voice wouldn’t work. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t want to talk, I had nothing to say. I just…I just wanted someone to tell me it was going to be fine, ask me if I was okay and hold me a minute. That’s all.” He shut his eyes, pressing fingers to them to get it to stop. It didn’t.

“In-instead they, they thought I was some kind of runaway that got into prostitution. After three days of me not talking they sent me to an institution. I still wouldn’t… They gave me pills to stop me from screaming, but it just made me scream in my head instead and there was nothing I could do to get out. Th-they electrocuted me and, and something broke. Something snapped. It just got put there permanently the second time. Before they could do it again I turned eighteen and left.”

He coughed, spluttered really. “And I…I don’t know what might have happened if someone would have just…just asked if I was alright. I think about it all the time. How I’d be. If,” he shook his head. “Doesn’t matter now.”

\------ 

"…God, I fucking… those weren’t doctors. Those were butchers. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Jim. I’m so sorry you’ve been hurt so viciously."

A little nervously, John held out his hand to him, offering it for him to take.

"I know the last thing you probably want is contact. But. You’re strong, Jim. You’re so fucking strong to have come through that all. All that  _hell._ You’re bloody brave, braver than I could ever be.”

\------

“I don’t know what they were. I don’t care. Doesn’t matter anymore. Too long ago to matter…” He muttered, eyes shut.

“I’m not strong. I’m a parasite. I keep coming back no matter how many times you try to squish me. I’m..” He swallowed, eyes swollen. “I’m nothing important. Just another thing in the dark, John. I’m not brave. I’m resilient. There’s a difference.”

\------

John shook head.

"You’re not a parasite, Jim. You’re not. You  _are_ brave. Stronger than anyone else I know, to be honest, now that you’ve… now that you’ve told me what you’ve had to endure. I mean that. And I know it’s… I know it’s far too late, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re a great man.”

_Maybe someday soon, you’ll even be a good one._

\------

He kept shaking his head, trembling all over so it might have gone unnoticed. He stared at John, incredulous and crying.

“I’m not,” he choked. “All those things I did, all those people I hurt, people like you…I’ve atoned for  _one_ , John,  _one._ And that doesn’t even count what you had to endure when Sherlock ‘died.’ There’s so many, I’ve hurt  _so many_ people just to try and get back  at the world and this is what’s happened. This is where I end up. Alone like I should be.”

He squeezed the tags, eyes shutting again. “You should have just spat on me and left, John. You shouldn’t be showing me this kindness.”

\------

"I couldn’t do that. Not to anyone. Not after… No. Just no. Stars. Can’t do it. I’m not that kind of person."

He ran a hand through his hair, unsure of what to do.

"Jim. Yes, you have done… you have done a  _lot_ of awful things. I mean, the fall, the… the kidnapping? I’m not delusional. I know those were least of your crimes. I know that. But no one. No one, Jim. Is beyond changing. And I don’t… I don’t think you want to be that person anymore, despite the… despite our unpleasantness last month.”

_Way to go, John, very British of you. Unpleasantness. The torture, you mean._

"If you want me to go, I will. But I want you to understand. You don’t… you don’t  _have_ to be alone. You don’t have to deal with all this by yourself. I know we’ll never be best friends, too much blood between us, but I still want to help you. In any way I can. Any thing you need, that I can provide. Because if not for me showing up here, you’d be okay right now. Even if ‘okay’ means ‘wanting to kill me’.”

\------

“Unpleasantness,” he said softly, licking his lips. That’s what he wanted to call him ripping him to pieces and shattering his very soul. But alright- Wait, did he just quote  _The Road to El Dorado?_

He swallowed the bile at the back of his throat, sniffling still. “I do have to be alone, John. I am going to deal with this alone, I have to. That’s how I’ve always done it and that’s how I have to continue to do it because I don’t know how else to handle it I…” He let out another sob, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Dr. Watson, I haven’t been fine since I got back. Not after I knew what I lost.” He squeezed the tags again. “So it’s not your fault.”

\------

It was a risk, John knew. If you asked him why, after the fact, he wouldn’t be able to explain it. He put a hand on Jim’s shoulder, gently, barely touching him, just trying to be reassuring. He hoped it wouldn’t upset him more.

"You’ve lost something. Someone."

It was a fact; He knew that tone, that look in his eyes. He’d had it before, after the Fall.

"Talk to me, Jim. Please. Let it all out. I know I’m not  _that_ kind of doctor, but dammit… fuck, I care. I do. You’ve… you’ve already started talking, about… about the terrible things you’ve endured through your life. I will listen to anything you need to speak on.”

\------

He flinched from his touch, eyes apologetic but he…he couldn’t. Not yet. He chewed his lip, looking at him.

“Sebastian,” he whispered. “Th’ sniper I almost had shoot you I…we loved each other. First person that’s ever given a damn about me. And after..after I shot myself I thought he’d be alright but he…he followed me instead. He fucking died and left me…” He jiggled the tags a bit.”I don’t know why, I dunno, maybe he knew.”

He cried softly. “He was my tiger. My…The only person that ever,  _ever_  cared about me for who I was, and now he’s gone. M-my Tiger, my Seb…”

\------

John nodded slightly as he pulled away. 

_Twinkle, twinkle, little John._

_Send him back to me, ‘cause everyone can see, without him I will be in misery._

_The weight of the gun, the red mark it left pressed against my temple. Many times. Many wishes. In the end, too weak. Couldn’t do it._

"I’m so… I’m so sorry, Jim. I know what it’s… I know what it’s like, to. To lose someone. To feel…"

He sat down, cross-legged, and stared down at his hands.

"I often found myself sitting in Sherlock’s room, in the dark, with my Browning… couldn’t do it. I wanted to, cor, everything fucking hurt all the bloody time and I… I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid. When you lose your, your… the other half of your soul, it’s hard to recover. It’s suffering, constantly. You… you know that. You  _feel_ that. And it’s something I know too. And your… your sniper, he obviously loved you. It wasn’t out of spite, or anger, that he did what he did. He just wanted to be with you.”

John let out a slow breath.

"You’re here. Maybe… whatever brought you back could, could find him. Could bring him back to you."  _And we could have TWO immortal bloodthirsty killers running about, probably wanting to kill Sherlock. Lovely._

"I’m… I’m so sorry, Jim, for what it’s worth. For you, for Sebastian. If Sherlock’d… I didn’t know. You have to understand, I didn’t  _know._ For years. Right up until he showed up on the doorstep, I had no idea. I didn’t think…”

_I didn’t think anyone else had lost like I had._

"I didn’t think for a single second he had survived. I’m a doctor, and he bloody well fooled me. I’m so sorry for everything you lost because of us."

John felt small. All the joy, all the warmth and light he’d experienced since getting Sherlock back… equivalent exchange. Moriarty- Jim- had gotten the exact opposite. Suffering. Pain. Darkness. It was fair, but… but it didn’t really feel that way. It felt awful.

\------

“Sebastian was there when I shot myself. He heard it. Probably watched me drop and took his eyes off you for just a second to watch it happen. He carried me off the roof. Not sure what happened after…” He took a shaky breath.

“You got a new wife. You had other people around you to help you if you wanted, to hold you up and keep you going. Seb didn’t. I…I was all he had. He was alone, probably drowned himself in alcohol if all the bottles I found mean anything.

“I know he wanted to be with me. He wasn’t being vindictive, he never could with me, no matter how angry I ever made him,” he breathed, still sobbing softly.

“But he didn’t find me, did he?” He croaked brokenly. “He didn’t find me because I wasn’t there and now he’s trapped somewhere without me and it’s not fair!” He spat.

“He didn’t get a parlor trick, John. I didn’t either. He didn’t get fooled and then the person he loved back because of it. Sebastian lost everything and I couldn’t get to him in time. I was selfish and stupid and if I just would have went away like he’d asked me to I’d be okay. I’d be just fine and we’d be together instead of whatever this hell my life is now,” he buried his face in his hands for a moment, crying with the tags against his face.

“I didn’t lose everything because of you and Sherlock, I lost everything because of  _me_. But I…I thought the scales would balance out because you’d be losing him too. And then Seb wouldn’t have to be alone in the world but  _no_. Sherlock  _cheated!_ ” He shook his head, licking his lips.

“I want him back. I just want him back.”

\------

"I’m sorry."

It was all he could say.

"I know I’m… fuck, even at the worst times in my life I’ve never suffered as much as either of you." 

It was true. His dad, the war, the camp, post-fall… Nothing even came close to the lives of the sniper and the criminal.

John brought his knees to his chest and looked down.

"…How did you come back?"

\------

“You’ve suffered plenty, Dr. Watson,” he said softly. “And…and most of it was at my hands. I’m sorry,” he breathed, sniffling.

He took another shaky gulp for air.

“Some _…something_  pulled me out of whatever pit I was in. I…I can’t really remember what happened. It’s all a bit of a blur. I went into shock a few times when it was there. Before finding our flat empty, I…I don’t really remember much of anything. One minute I was lost in the dark, in nothingness screaming in the empty air, the next I was on the roof talking to…talking to someone. Something…” God his head hurt. “A woman, I think. She did it.” He was grateful for this, something that didn’t hurt so much.

\------

"A… a woman? If she, um. If she pulled you out… couldn’t she do it again?"

_Is she good or evil? Is this a blessing or a curse? can she do it to just… to just anyone?_

He didn’t know what to make of this knowledge… Jim, with his eidetic memory, didn’t seem to know much of his savior.

\------

“I don’t know,” he croaked, throat on fire. “I don’t think this was something she does a lot. I don’t think she’d do it twice. Especially for me. What did I do to deserve something like that?”

The tears were back again and he sniffled. “I can’t entertain ideas like that. They hurt to much.”

\------

John swallowed the lump in his throat. 

"I’m sorry… Would you… would you like something to drink? I didn’t… I didn’t think to bring food back with me, but I have a bottle of water, if you…"

He trailed off, pulling the bottle from his bag and rolling it toward Jim.

\------

This  _ache_  he felt absolutely everywhere was overwhelming. It pained his chest and the rest of his body, spread to the headache already thudding behind his eyelids. He hated this, he hated everything about it. He hated being weak in front of John, he hated that he had told him all of this, he hated that he couldn’t live without Sebastian and that he didn’t want to.

He picked up the bottle, glancing at him as he cracked it open. “Thank you,” he muttered, chugging half of it in one go. “Dying of thirst isn’t fun.”

\------

"…I’m pretty sure dying, period, isn’t fun, no matter how it happens."

He made sure not to look at him, giving him as much privacy as he could.

"Listen, if you… Please. If I’m… If you want me to, to leave. Just say so. I don’t… I really don’t want to make this worse for you. I don’t, I’ve… fuck, you’ve suffered enough because of me, even offhandedly."  _Sherlock lives, and I’m happy, and you’re falling apart. The only way to make it right is to lose him, and I… I can’t do that, I just can’t._

\------

He gave a laugh that was much closer to a strangled sob. “No. No, you’re right, it’s not. Believe you me.”

He wiped his face again, his cheeks going raw as the tears kept up. He wondered if they’d ever stop.

“Dr. Watson, you don’t want to be around me. Go…go home,” he nodded, trying to smile at him. “G-go find Sherlock, tell him you love him and don’t ever let him go.” He sniffed, staring at the floor. “You don’t have to stay here because of me. I don’t want you to have to stand where I hurt you, where that thing made you do repulsive things anymore. I want you to go home and smile somewhere I can never be with something I’ll never have again, okay? Can you do that for me?” He ended on a whimper, squeezing the bottle.

\------

Tears fell from John’s blonde lashes. God, it hurt, why did it  _hurt?_  Jim was right, he  _knew_ that, but… 

"Jim… I’m not… Sod it all, I bloody  _care,_  even after everything. I’ll… Yes, I’ll… I’ll do that, but, please. Please. Don’t…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Try to contact her, for me. Don’t… don’t just write it off as impossible. God, you’re… You’re Jim Moriarty, don’t let some magical tart stand between you and happiness. Please. If she says no, you  _make_  her.”

He stood, looking at him sadly.

"And if you need anything, you call me. Or text. Or the blog. Something. I know you probably won’t, but I’m putting that out there in case you… in case you need it."

\------

He cursed himself for causing more tears to fall from this man’s eyes. He’d caused him enough fucking pain already..

He didn’t know where to start to look for this woman. He barely remembered what she looked like. She was…just a blur in his mind. A smudge. Find her…how? Go to Bart’s? Maybe when breathing didn’t feel like his heart was getting stabbed with glass every time he inhaled, he’d try. He nodded. “I’ll try, John,” he breathed. “Promise.” He wasn’t sure he had it in him to try to force someone like her to do as he asked.

He wouldn’t contact him, that was very true. Nothing could push him that far. Maybe. “Okay,” he whispered, absently touching his pocket where John’s card was.

\------

John wiped his eyes and smiled softly. 

"Thank you. Thank you. And I’m so, so sorry. Don’t forget that. I’ll, um. I’ll go home now. Good luck, Jim. You deserve some."

He turned and left, hailing a cab, collapsing into his bed and sobbing as soon as he got into the flat. Sherlock was out, thankfully. He didn’t want him to see him like this. Not when they were making such good progress.

_I remember him standing on that roof, looking down at me. I could hear him crying over the phone. I remember his body smacking into the ground, the sickening crunch of bone. I remember hating Moriarty, the man who pushed him to it, who took everything from him._

_Never once did I question. Never once did I wonder about the origins of the consulting criminal. I should have. Cor, I should have. I wish I could help. This is our fault, our fault for living. We did this._

John sank into an uneasy sleep filled with screams and blood and fire. When Sherlock woke him near three in the morning, he pulled him into his arms and held him close. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, and I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 


End file.
